Hello, Reader. How are you this Friday morning? It's gloomy here. The light is cold and distant. I'm comforted by the knowledge that were I to open the windows, I might catch the scent of spring on the air.
Poor Winter didn't have a long reign this year.
Mostly this week I've been doubting myself again—what I'm doing, where I'm going, and where I belong. You know that saying, "Home is where the heart is?" Well, I'm not sure I entirely agree. I really crave a touchstone, a place where I can walk and feel solid again. I still don't feel like I have that in Maine. The campus is not "mine" anymore, not in the way it was when I was a student. My hometown no longer feels like its mine, neither does the Vermont town where I lived for almost two years. And Boston never really felt like home. I'm not good at wandering. I want a place to call my own.
Today I'm missing Stirling, Scotland. The weather is perfect for a loch walk around Loch Airthrey on Stirling University campus. I miss those trees. And also the swans, though the swans were somewhat terrifying.
That hill in the distance is called Dumyat. I used to stare at it and imagine standing at the top, feeling the wind and looking down at everything. Someday, I will.
But it's just a regular week, neither good nor bad. I'm writing. I'm moving forward with my novel. I want to finish soon. I won't finish as soon as I'd like. I'm drinking coffee. I'm kickboxing. I'm once again fantasizing about having a dog to take on walks and to keep me company while I sit at the computer.
For now my characters will keep my company. I wish I really believed that. Some writers do. I think what happens to me is that sometimes when I'm really in the middle of writing, I lose myself. I fall away and it's just the story.
Wishing you hot tea and spring rain, good books and long walks, sweet dreams and happy Friday.